Just What Does it Take to Make a Decision

My wife is one of those people who likes to tackle a decision only after getting all the facts. Me? Well I think can get “all the facts I need” to make a decision more quickly than she. In other words I like to fly by the seat of my pants.

While Sue and I don’t always reach the same conclusions, there are time when her plodding, methodical approach brings her to the same opinion I reached in about ten seconds. And then there are times when I am enlightened by her “research” and am persuaded to join her wholeheartedly. So we walk on in life and balance each other.

But there was this one time, about ten years ago, when Sue did something uncharacteristically rash. Without having all the plans in place, without knowing all the facts, she made a decision that changed the direction of her life. I was kind of shocked as I watched her, wondering what in the world she was thinking. This was not the Sue I had known for most of a decade. What was going on inside her? Had she taken leave of her senses?

You see ten years ago today, October 2 1999, Sue said I do and married me and our two children. I had lost my first wife to cancer, the kids were three and five years old; and Sue married us anyway! What a difference that has made for us all.

So I got to witness Sue jumping into the great unknown and am grateful to God that I got to jump into the unknown with her.

Happy anniversary Sue.

Peace

Leon

My Father is my Role Model

A little over twenty three years ago my father began a new phase of his journey. He departed this life and entered the next.

Wherever he went on this earth my father left an indelible impression on those he encountered. To start with he had a port-wine birthmark that covered one half of his face. So to meet him was to see that huge red mark. But in just a few minutes, if you were like 95% of the people who met him, you completely forgot about the birthmark. My father’s warm, gregarious personality overwhelmed any feelings of “look at that red mark.” In short he became your friend and then there was so much more to be fascinated with than a port wine colored birthmark.

Though he was never able to finish the sixth grade, my father was a widely read man. Dad used to say, “If you can read you can learn anything!” And he proved his love of reading by collecting books and magazines on almost any topic, from all around the world. Just off the top of my head I remember a novel about a Chinese peasant, a collection of folk tales from Liberia, Mother Earth News, a host of political writings, McGuffy Readers from the early 1900’s, various tomes on holistic medicine, popular science, popular mechanics; and the list is just getting started.

Dad’s friends were…well most everyone wanted to be his friend. Our home was always open for the stranger. So many people counted our family as their own, that we had a hard time figuring out who should sit where at the funeral. The conversation went something like this. Well there’s Don. He has to sit with the family. Don was about a third cousin, but spent as much time at our house as I did.

We never had Thanksgiving or Christmas where only our immediate family was present. Someone always brought a friend or sometimes even the friend of a friend along who had nowhere to go that day. Each one was welcomed and accepted to sit at that table and enjoy the conversation, great food, and hospitality in our home. The funny thing was that few people felt like they were outsiders. In just minutes they would be laughing and talking, fully engaged in whatever topic was being discussed.

What made this even more interesting was that our family was only one generation removed from being Amish. Both my mother and father were raised Amish. I grew up in a very conservative offshoot of the Amish. We had cars and electricity, but other than that…we looked the part.

Among people who counted my dad as their friend were people who were blatantly racist, people who were deeply religious, as well as those who did not believe in God at all. Our family had so many friendships outside our close Amish-like community, that none of us kids learned how to speak “dutch.”  But to everyone who crossed his path, dad was welcoming, generous, and giving.

He once gave his credit card to a young man who got stuck on his honeymoon and told him to mail it back when he got home. More than once, young men seeking to buy a house, came to my dad for help; and our family really didn’t have that much to spare, but he tried to give these young families a shot at home ownership.

Long after his death, after my brother had purchased the home place and was then getting ready to sell and move away, there was an amazing gathering. So many people had come to see 1121 Rittman Road as their second home, so many referred to my parents as their grandparents, that they gathered together  to remember. They talked about the wonderful days and nights they had spent within those walls. They talked about the way my father had influenced them; befriended them. They reminisced and shared. They all laughed, and some even cried.

Even though my dad had long since begun that new phase of his journey, here were people gathered to remember how his open door home made them feel like they belonged, like they mattered. His generosity had touched them all in some powerful way. He truly reflected God in a powerful way.

So this weekend as I remember my father, I realize anew the desire to be like him. I want my children to see me welcome and accept others, especially those who need a place to feel safe and at home. I want to instill in my children a deep love of books and reading, to be “hunters and gatherers” of learning. And long after I begin that phase of my journey that comes after this life, my hope is that my family and others remember my life as reflecting the values of my both of my fathers…earthly and heavenly.

Peace,

Leon

Death

For a long time, in my daily prayers, I have included prayers for those who have lost loved ones. The sense of despair can be overwhelming.

This week dear friends of mine lost their 18 year old son in a car crash. I was reminded of the depth of sorrow death brings to those of us who still live. While I have never lost a child I have lived through the death of numerous family members, including my first wife. As I have grieved the loss of my friend’s son I tried to put into words how I remember feeling when death invaded my life.

What follows is kind of dark, but it is real. It is what I felt. Thank God it is not the end of the journey, but it was a very real phase. Perhaps later I will add more to this piece that includes the healing phase. I can honestly say life is good. I have joy.  But I also have a deep identification with those who suffer the pain of loss. Join me in lifting up to God all who are in the depth of pain that comes when someone they love departs this life.

Death

The gaping hole inside…is filled with empty, numbing pain

Tears; waterfalls really…but I can’t seem to cry anymore

Shock…overwhelming reality

I cannot go on…I must go on

I am exhausted…insomnia has become my partner

I cannot take in such a vast amount of pain…yet it keeps on coming

I go into the room, smell the clothes …but will never again hold my loved one

Memories comfort me…memories torture me

I am empty inside…but filled with an aching longing

I will be sad forever…I cannot even imagine the future

Vague numbness…specific pain

I cannot cry anymore…but suddenly, I weep and sob

I feel abandoned…a deep, abiding sorrow is my constant companion

I am so full of pain…I am rarely hungry

My life has come to a screeching halt…others go on as if nothing has happened

All of me is pain and suffering…my soul has been shredded

Every waking moment is wracked with pain…the blessing of sleep eludes me

Life goes on…I cannot put one foot in front of the other

I cling to memories…but the life I knew is gone

Will this nightmare never end…I am reminded at 3 AM, this is no dream, this is my life

O Lord. Have mercy on all who suffer the despair of loss. Have mercy O God. Have mercy.

Christ is Risen…and So Am I

Christ is Risen.

It was nearly midnight and I was staring into a dimly lit sanctuary. My sense of anticipation had been building all day. No, more than just today, anticipation had been building all year, intensifying during the Lenten season. For forty days, all during Lent and into Holy Week, God had been nudging me.

Sometimes when I would read scripture, the Word would be alive and filled with hope for my life. Not that I would read a passage and say “That is exactly what God is saying to me right now!” It was more like, “This reveals the nature of God in his interaction with humanity I am part of that humanity so I can trust God to interact with me in a similar way.” At points along the way, I became more deeply aware of my need for repentance from sin in my life.

The last few years had been brutal. My wife, Lena, died in January of 1999. By October, 2002, my role on the pastoral staff in the church I had served for 12 years came to an end. Both these events shook my life to the core. I lost the ability to dream, and wondered if God had simply placed me on the shelf like a child’s forgotten toy. I wondered if others in my life had forgotten me too.

But, entering this Lenten season, something was stirring inside me. I felt alive! God was always on the move, but now I felt him in ways I had not experienced in many years. I examined different aspects of my life and felt him nudging me to look behind the piles of rubble I found. As I picked up old stones and broken bricks, I saw ways in which I had allowed my self doubt to become a loss of confidence in God. The resulting attitude was “whatever!” While I still believed and I still prayed and I still desperately desired to follow God in faithfulness, I just couldn’t shake the thought that I couldn’t make a difference. I have been set aside.

At the bottom of the rubble pile, I realized I needed to repent before God. It was simply wrong of me to hold on to a sense of failure, or fear, or just to say “I can’t.” I held my sin before God and the more I repented, the more I felt him bringing new life. I wondered if Samson felt this way as he realized his strength was returning. And though I had no plans to pull the whole temple down on my head, it felt so good to feel alive again!

That night, the candles gently illuminated the icons in the room. I could make out the altar at the front, where the celebration of the resurrection of our Lord would soon be held. I stared hard, drinking in every aspect of that dimly lit room. So inviting. So welcoming. In the silence, someone came up and spoke gently to me. I was comforted, but I wanted only to drink in what was before me.

Come unto me all you who are tired and burdened. I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, learn from me. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

On the previous two evenings, this room had been filled with people singing, praying, reading scriptures and prostrating themselves before God. I love the Holy Friday evening service. Such depth and beauty is indescribable and the hauntingly beautiful songs touched me at the core of my being. Like attending a funeral where you say goodbye to a loved one, I found myself bidding adieu to parts of my own soul. I said goodbye to hurt and woundedness. I said goodbye to despair. I said goodbye to the idea that God had set me aside and forgotten about me. That night, as we read the story of Ezekiel’s dry bones filling the valley, I was filled with hope that my dry bones could live again as the breath of God swept over me anew.

During those few quiet moments before the beginning of the paschal celebration, I stood in the dark and looked upon holiness.

God was there.

And, in the next hours, as we entered the awe and wonder of the resurrection, I realized that, I along with our Lord Jesus, had been resurrected.

Peace,

Leon

Obama Took a Potty break During the Pledge of Allegience (and several other important issues ABC missed)

www.huffingtonpost.com/frank-schaeffer/obama-took-a-potty-break_b_97516.htmlBuzz up!

I must give credit to Frank Schaeffer for the following post on his blog at Huffington Post. It is so rib-tickling funny that I was laughing out loud as I read it. I wanted to share it with you. While Schaeffer is an Obama supporter, his point on cheap politics (focusing on so-called issues while ignoring the really big ones) cuts to all sides. So as we prepare to vote on Tuesday do so in all seriousness and with a lot of laughter.

Have fun.

Leon

Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos did an outstanding job questioning Senator Obama during the PA debate. But even though they spent the first hour on many substantive issues–such as Obama’s pastor’s comments–they missed several key points that voters deserve to know.

Amongst them are these:

Obama took a potty break once in first grade during the Pledge of Allegiance.

In kindergarten Obama finger-painted an American flag with the incorrect number of stars.

Obama’s second grade teacher was quoted as saying “I think Switzerland is cleaner than America” and yet Obama still describes her as a “good teacher.”

The pilot of Obama’s charted campaign plane was at a baseball game three years ago and forgot the words to the Star Spangled Banner and yet Obama has refused to distance himself from him.

Obama’s fourth cousin was accused of shoplifting a pack of gum seven years ago, and yet Obama was photographed hugging him at a family reunion just four years ago.

Asked to respond to these new concerns Hillary Clinton remarked–

“The media continues to give Obama a free ride. How else can you explain that he isn’t having to explain this part of his public record? By the time I was in first grade I not only knew the correct number of stars on our precious flag I had sewn hundreds of flags with my father and mother to hand out to blind cancer patients in Altoona, PA on the Fourth of July. How can the people of Pennsylvania feel comfortable with any candidate who would think that a bodily function is more important than the Pledge? I think Obama shows disdain for working people who never go to the bathroom during patriotic moments. I once held it for 48 hours just because I was thinking about our brave war dead from Western Pennsylvania. And we all might have relatives with a past. But Obama has known about his cousin’s key role in organized crime and done nothing about it! This so-called cousin didn’t just steal a pack of gum, there were many packs taken by his friends. This is an insult to all those hard working ordinary law-abiding Americans in Philadelphia who play by the rules and that I’ve spent thirty-five years fighting for ever since I was born near where they live and loved it. And I want you to know that Bill and I once actually canceled a state visit by the pope because we remembered that I had inadvertently picked up a mint at a hotel lobby in Pittsburgh–one of 80 countries I’ve visited while under fire–and when we got back to the White House it occurred to me that I hadn’t paid for it so we flew all the way back to return it. It turned out the mint was free, but I live by an inner code and got that code from the gun owners of Western Pennsylvania when my dad took me bowling–which I do well, by the way, since it is a really American thing to do–to learn right and wrong from people who don’t “cling” to religion but love God, not because they are “bitter” but because they love America. You all in the media have sifted my record for 30 years now, it’s really time you look harder at Obama! What else did his teachers do?”

Frank Schaeffer is a writer and author of “Crazy For God: How I Grew Up As One Of The Elect, Helped Found The Religious Right, And Lived To Take All (Or Almost All) Of It Back”